Broken Spectacles
by La Serenissima
Summary: Jack and Ralph meet again five years after their island experiance. This, however, could describe several fics on this site, so I will add that it is also Phantom of the Opera crossover, briefly!


"You need spectacles, darling."

"_Mother!_"

"Don't you think?" She tugged him around to face his Aunt Agatha. "My little Parliament man!"

He pulled away, grumbling at the indignity from the height of a full eighteen years.

"It's only an internship! It's not as though I'll actually be _doing_ anything! Besides, my vision's just fine. What do I need specs-glasses-for?

"Why, to make you look distinguished, darling," his mother said, reaching up to push back a stray lock of hair and reflecting, not for the first time, that her son had grown up so _much_ when he had been drafted in that awful war. Not that he had been childish before, she amended quickly, he had been as grown-up as could be expected, but the high spirits that unkind critics had called cruelty had disappeared as though burned away. He was so responsible now, so dedicated to making the world a better place; and modest with it-why, he had worked ceaselessly, absolutely ceaselessly, to get this internship, and get  
himself started in Parliament, and treated it like nothing!

"She's right, love," chimed in his aunt, "You'll look ever so nice!"

She was thinking along rather the same lines-since both of them were excellent, and very patriotic, ladies, they never considered that the change in the boy had begun rather before the war, that this new dedication to improving the entire human race had first started just after that terrible accident, when he and several other boys had been marooned on a forsaken island for several months. The war had made him a man, and the war was responsible for his gentleness and responsibility; that was what everyone said, when they commented on his wonderful maturity. Had any other thought crossed his aunt's or his mother's minds, they would have stamped it out firmly, for what everyone said could _never_ be wrong. This applied to the spectacles too: everyone knew that _everybody_ who was _anybody_ wore spectacles nowadays, and they both quite expected the boy to understand that. Neither of them quite understood just why he was making a fuss about it, and they were absolutely shocked when he growled:

"Don't be silly! You know I hate that kind of...of pretension, mother! I'll go as I am!"

The two ladies stared at each other as the door slammed.

Once outside the boy slumped against the door, trying to control the trembling of his hands. His eyes stared, blind, trying to block the memories he had been desperately trying to hold down, all his life it seemed-memories of another pair of specs glinting broken in a pitiless sun, broken specs he could have saved...and a twisted slash of lightning flinging back a roar of screams and cries and chanting that was still echoing inside him. That he had joined in, even helped create!

"Are you all right?"

He looked up, the blindness fleeing from his eyes, into the face of a young girl, maybe fifteen, hesitantly touching his shoulder. He immediately forgot everything but acute embarrassment to be caught at such a moment.

"I-yes, I'm all right-terribly sorry-felt dizzy a moment-are you-er-"

She didn't quite laugh at his confusion, but a crinkling around her eyes suggested she saw the humor in the situation, without the malice.

"Oh, please-don't be sorry. I thought perhaps you were taken ill. Are you sure you're all right?"

He smiled almost unconsciously in response to the beauty she carried like an angel.

"I'm fine," he said, "-now," he added under his breath.

"I'm glad," she said quietly, and smiled back. "Well-I should be going. I just-"

"Of course," he said, "Well-goodbye."

"Goodbye," she said smiling, and walked on, as he did-and then what she had done for him dawned upon him.

"Wait!" he called after her. "Come back a moment!"

She came, her eyes gentle and so trusting he could not bring himself to meet them.

"Thank you," he muttered, suddenly tongue-tied.

"It was no trouble," she answered, so quietly that he looked towards her. On sudden impulse, in thanks for the understanding in her eyes, he kissed her hand.

She laughed in surprise and delight, a pure, lovely sound he wished he could hear again.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Christine," she answered, "Christine Daae."

"Well, Christine-thank you very much."

She laughed again, and ran down the path to tell her father about the wonderful boy she had met who had kissed her hand like a real gentleman.

He watched her go with regret, mixed with extraordinary relief, mixed with terror of what might have happened if she had not come along. He would surely have gone mad! He had to control this sort of thing. He forced his mind to Parliament, refined, cultured, _safe_ Parliament, the embodiment of the civilized world. He wouldn't think about-a certain island. A certain person. He laughed, trying to ignore the strain in it. He was eighteen, reasonably good-looking, with money in the bank and a nice internship in Parliament-why should he have a care in the world? All that was over and done with. He'd grown out of it. He walked the rest of the way thinking of mundane things, the work he had to do, a certain girl by the name of Erica Hart-but it was only when he remembered Christine's beautiful face and her laugh that his shadows completely deserted him and he regained the inborn authority that had deserted him at the first mention of spectacles.

By the time he got to the office he was absolutely ready to dive into the chaos that was Monday mornings. However, his boss, Roberta Sille, snagged his arm before he could escape her.

"There's another intern come in-I thought you would get along well together, so I took the liberty of putting _him_ with you instead of Miss Hart. I hope you don't mind?"

He did mind, a little-Miss Hart was a very pretty young lady, though an outrageous flirt-but of course he said nothing of the kind.

"Good, then. His name's-Wait a moment...there he is!"

She waved at someone behind him. He turned, polite nothings ready on his tongue-and froze, memory crashing down on him.

The boy, the other intern, stood there, relaxed and confident, even a bit bored. Just as he had looked those five years ago. As the silence stretched his faced tensed into a faintly puzzled look…and then he froze, as the other boy had, with a tension that screamed control a fingernail's breadth from snapping.

"Hullo, Jack."

"Hullo, Ralph."

Mrs. Sille looked from one to the other, sensing the strain but not quite sure where it came from or how to combat it.

"You….know each other?"

"Why, of course," said Jack, without moving. "Ralph and I are old…friends. In a way."

Mrs. Sille looked back and forth again. She hated not knowing what was going on in her own office, but going from the white cast of Jack's face and Ralph's tight mouth she was not going to get anything out of either of them. Perhaps later...but no, what was replaying in both their eyes for the other one to see could not be pleasant. She sighed.

"Well, then I'll leave you both to...to catch up, shall I? Work starts at nine; I'll see you boys then."

She swept off, her mind in a fury over what intensity of experience could have such an effect. Perhaps they had been in the war together...yes, that would explain things very nicely. Well, they could not very well engage in a fist fight in the middle of a crowded room, and perhaps it would do them good to let off steam.

With her departure, the spell that held them was snapped. Ralph flung himself away from Jack, as though he could not bear what he was seeing.

"What do you mean by-what are you _doing_ here? _Here_, of all places!"

Jack flung his head back, looking defiant; pride battled with fear in his eyes.

"Why, Ralph, I've always had an interest in government. You, of all people, ought to know that."

"Oh, yes-and we both know how well that worked out last time!"

"Last time-" Jack's face tightened, whether in anger or shame Ralph could not tell-"Last time I was-it-does it really matter so much?"

Ralph stared at him, his anger blazing up. Could he really think that? After all they had been through on that forsaken isle, after all he had done, did he actually think that? He restrained himself-barely-from going for Jack's throat.

"Does it matter?" he spat, nearly choking on the words, "Does it _matter_? To even be here, you must have been in the war. Tell me you don't relive that every day of your life and then ask me if it matters!" Fury seemed to be coursing through his veins with the blood, fire and lighting and blood-red anger. His breath came faster and faster, shoving words out of his mouth. "Does _death_ matter? Simon and Piggy-did _they_ matter? You inhuman-"

He cut off, realizing abruptly that Jack was flat on the floor, his hands clenched around his chest as though he were trying to stop them from flying to his ears, his tie over one shoulder. He had thrown Jack to the floor. He backed away, breathing hard.

Jack raised his head up, shaking with emotion, and it suddenly hit Ralph what the tone of those words had been. Pleading. Jack had been pleading with him, asking for forgiveness from the one person who could give it to him.

And he had refused.

Ralph stared at the man lying at his feet. Time seemed to stretch as he traced fresh differences in a face he had not recognized at first. Lines around his mouth and eyes. A scar on his cheek And his eyes…Ralph's throat clenched. His eyes had Death in them. And something else, he saw with a shock. Tears. Jack was crying.

"I'll take responsibility for Simon's death. Even moral responsibility for Piggy's." Jack said, halting and hoarse as he had never been before. "But I-would like to get the record straight. Directly, Piggy _wasn't my doing_! And-if I had my way-Roger would be court-martialed for that."

He began to get to his feet, slowly, like an old, old man.

Ralph looked at him and sighed. He knew where that rage had come from, now. The Beast wanted Jack for its own. But he had learned something of how to defend himself in the long years after Simon had died.

"Jack-if Roger should be court-martialed for Piggy's death, we all should be for Simon's"

Jack just looked at him dully.

"You mean me."

"No! I said all of us and I meant all of us. Jack, the Beast isn't outside of us, it's inside. It's not something you can kill, or even defeat. You can just defend yourself. It's not your fault we didn't know how."

Jack just gazed at him, past him, as though seeing his imperfect memory replayed; not just the island, but years in the war.

Five years and human nature had not changed.

Ralph put his hand gently on Jack's arm and helped him to his feet.

**Author's Note:** My first fic! Yay! OK, first off, pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top read and review! And please tell me what you think about which of the two the ambiguous person in the first half is, because yes, that is on purpose. I want to know if it works or not! I'm not telling who it is though, because there is a clue, but more importantly cuz I think it makes it more interesting. But I could very well be crazy--so review! Also, I hope no one is expecting a sequel that's ...?../Christine, because this is a one-shot, and, in this particular universe they will NOT ever meet again.


End file.
